A Little Less
by Hito
Summary: Slash. Draco/Harry. Draco has to choose.
1. The Night Before

Title: A Little Less

Author: Hito

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Draco/Harry

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. 

Author's Note: Will be slash. Don't like it; don't read it. Rating may rise. Depends whether I feel like writing a gratuitous sex scene. It's a toss up. 

*

It was May, and it was cold, and Draco didn't know why he was out there. He hesitated on the edge, but he wasn't supposed to be out, so he let the forest swallow him. Wind-tossed trees with inked in centres looked ready to burst, and he'd never noticed that summer was so—vicious. Carnivorous, and he already regretted coming. 

He wasn't sure why he had. He _knew_, of course, he just didn't know what he was going to do, and that came to the same thing. 

He found the first notch. The clearing was five minutes away, and the Whomping Willow two away from that, and he didn't know how far death was from the Shrieking Shack, but it wasn't likely to be an over-long journey. And he didn't know how he could stop it, and he didn't know why he was going to try, but he hurried onwards anyway. 

Then he was on the ground, a root tight around his ankle, and there was a brief moment of terror while branches swayed and loomed and roots grew and reached before he realised that he'd just tripped and fallen, and everything was still inanimate. The forest was adaptable and Draco wasn't really used to it. He dragged himself to his feet and stumbled on. 

And Potter wasn't worth it, any of it. He was just a stupid git with a superiority complex. One who did stupid things like saving the world when any sensible person would merely inform a responsible adult that one of the Dark Lord's followers had come up with another cunning plan to restore their master to power, and a little help would be nice, please. Dumbledore would disagree, but maybe Dumbledore was as stupid and soft as his father had always said. Was, Draco knew it, with the giant and the werewolf and sooner or later, Dumbledore would extend that hand of friendship and be left with nothing but a bloody stump. 

Nobody had ever accused Draco of being stupid though – well, his father had, but his father had been wrong about too many things; Draco had the scars to prove it – and he had a fair idea of what would happen if the night went to plan. It was impossible to know for certain, and that was what was so frightening. He just knew that it would hurt a lot. For everyone. 

And maybe the forest _was_ alive, because he could feel it watching him, and it was an effort to keep moving, frantically scouring his memory for tid-bits from Care of Magical Creatures that might actually be a guide on how to _survive_ the things. 

This was all his father's fault and it would serve him right if Draco did die tonight, if there was any sort of guarantee that life would be extinct before he was torn limb from limb by whatever ravening beasts were on the prowl. 

But then, Lucius would probably just shrug and get on with his day. His father had always been inexplicable. Draco had never known why he couldn't be satisfied with all that money and power, why he felt the need to make a tool of himself to an insane, murderous, aspiring dictator. Why he was willing to risk himself and his family on such a thing, for such a small gain. They'd always had so much, could have had so much, and his father was willing, _eager_, to throw everything away for the chance to be Voldemort's right hand man – and everything would be so much less if somebody else had absolute power over you. Inexplicable. If you're going to risk everything, why not at least come up with your _own_ plot for world domination? 

Draco did know, when he had to. He'd heard the screams and seen the marks and sometimes he had trouble looking his mother in the eye over breakfast, when his father hissed in pain every time he had to reach for the butter. In truth, it was his mother who was an enigma and his father whom he hated. 

The trees thinned as he approached the clearing and he the deep notches cut into the bark ended. He'd been there before, but he wouldn't have known the way without the markings; there was nothing special about the place, despite its popularity. 

It was rumoured that shields surrounded the clearing, to keep out magical creatures, and nobody had ever been injured there, so perhaps it was true. People afraid of being caught at their fumblings came out there, as Hagrid was the only one who patrolled it, and he hardly counted as a teacher, anyway. He never punished anyone he discovered. Potter wouldn't know that though—would he? It was a discomfiting thought, so Draco refused to think it. He, like most of the rest of the school, thought it was a perfectly ridiculous idea, but that never stopped some idiot from ignoring the warnings. Trust Potter. Draco'd been once, in fourth year, and he'd sworn never to set eyes on the place again; fucking against a tree was not fun. Scratchy bark and biting ants didn't make for the most pleasant coupling. 

He was geared up, ready, as he emerged from the trees, and his start when he came face to face with Potter was wholly convincing. 

Or maybe just overdone: the only reaction Potter displayed was a slight widening of the eyes. "Dra— Hannah. It's Draco." 

The girl was sitting on a blanket on the ground with her back to him, looking up at Potter, who had gone from uncomfortable to wary in about a second. She turned, looking a little puzzled, but not afraid—he was a Slytherin, after all, and a Hufflepuff wouldn't understand that Slytherins mistrust their own most of all. She was pretty enough—not enough to lure Draco out of doors on a night like this, but more than enough for Potter, evidently—and looked like an indeterminate Granger. Food for thought, that. 

Hannah—a girl he had barely known existed until this morning. Yesterday morning, now. And he should have paid attention, if she was dating a Housemate, and he blamed himself for that, with no clear idea why. 

And here was the part where knowing what the fuck he was going to do once he got here might have come in useful. 

Couldn't cede control to those two though, the idea being to get Potter _away_ from her, and he was beside them before he could think to stop himself. 

Vaguely realised that he was breathless and they were both staring at him in utter confusion and his body was still working ahead of his brain. 

"Awfully sorry. I was supposed to meet somebody here. You know—" 

The confusion stayed on Potter's face but melted from Hannah's, and she wavered between displeased and excited while Potter worked through it. 

"A girl? You're meeting a girl now?" 

Because it was romantic, and all that, what with the lack of pine needles to lodge in awkward places. 

"Er, well…." It wasn't as if he could summon one to meet the need. Draco hedged for all he was worth, which wasn't much, at the moment. "You know how it is." Potter didn't, obviously, but an unpleasantly familiar conclusion appeared to be dawning on Hannah and why did people have to think things? "Wouldn't like to say." 

"Oh. Gallantry." 

The sarcasm was so unexpected that Draco didn't even know what syllable was droning out of his mouth and Hannah snapped out of her reverie. 

"Of course, Harry. Consideration for a girl. Right." A smile that didn't sit well on that pretty, formless face. Draco hadn't been aware that particular piece of intelligence was being tossed around the Hufflepuff common room. He was going to kill William. 

"Yes, well, we did get here first, you know. It really would be best if you just left." There was an expectant second before Hannah's face crumpled into petulance. "Oh, but if you were meeting somebody." 

"Yes, I really shouldn't stand them up." 

"No." She stared at him suspiciously, as if she was thinking about dragging the secret out of him by main force, but she shook it off. Unfolding herself, she got to her feet, hesitating. Draco knew that this had been mapped out from start to finish by her boyfriend, and she couldn't seem to decide what to do now that the plan had skidded off course. "Well, perhaps you'd better wait and then take your friend back to the castle. Harry and I have plans." 

It was a pity those plans diverged so wildly. He tried not to think about it, as he'd been trying not to think about it all day; this wasn't the time to squirm. 

"I will. Shouldn't be long…" He'd wait, and no one would come. He'd wait, and everything would happen anyway, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not without— 

"How's Pansy?" 

There was a decidedly unpleasant glint in Hannah's eye. The sweetness was assumed along with the loyalty, and he knew better than to believe in those divisions, but he hadn't thought—she had always seemed nice enough. He had never paid much attention to nice people. 

"Pansy's fine. I haven't seen her much lately. How's William?" 

The quick lift of her head indicated alarm, but it could have been interpreted as almost anything, and Potter wasn't looking at her, anyway. 

"Oh, the usual. He's having a hard time in Transfiguration. Thinks McGonagall's marking harder." 

"I expect he's been a bit distracted of late, hmm?" 

There was no possibility she didn't know what he was implying, but she ignored it, and turned to Potter. 

"Professor McGonagall is very strict, isn't she? Is she fair, do you think?" 

As Potter stammered out an answer, Draco's eyes swept the surrounding area. He might be able to hear Melas' approach, if he hadn't used a silencing spell. Unlikely, but possible, and any advantage, any chance, however slight, was to be snatched. 

He didn't hear anything, but he caught a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly, he was staring right into William's eyes. 

He should say something, he should let Potter know, he'd want to leave—but William would just attack, and then Draco would have to make a choice. 

William slipped back out of sight without acknowledging him, his colouring easily merging with the tree trunks, and Draco felt the panic that had been increasing since that morning spin out of control. 

There was nothing he could do. He'd gotten himself involved with some stupid idea of changing things and now there was no way out, Potter was going to die and he was going to have to help, now, and there was nothing he could do to stop any of it. And it was his fault, for not being able to think of anything, for not being able to choose. For not really knowing what he wanted to happen. 

He tuned back in to Potter and Hannah's conversation. Hannah was speaking. 

"—done it before. I know all about it." 

Hannah was smiling guilelessly, and the start of a flush was creeping up Potter's neck. 

Draco had forgotten how damn awkward the first steps into sex were. He wondered why Potter was looking at him. Did he want a reason to escape? Maybe Draco could use that; maybe he could still….

William was just out of sight behind the first row of trees; Draco could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze, and hopelessly prayed that he wouldn't emerge. A movement that wouldn't have given him away if Hannah hadn't been expecting him, but she glanced to the side and stiffened, and Potter noticed. 

"What's wrong? Oh!" Potter watched as William eased forward, slowly approaching the group. "Is this who—" A quick glance at Draco, and all expression vanished from his face. He didn't look away. "Did you come here to meet him?" 

William and Hannah both opened their mouths, and hesitated, unsure. Draco jumped in. "No. I'm meeting someone else." 

Potter turned to William. "So what are you doing here?" 

There was nothing he could do. "Maybe I should leave. It's getting a little crowded here." 

He was backing slowly away, trying desperately to decide, trying to ignore the uncertainty on William and Hannah's faces as they looked at him, willing Potter to understand, to speak, when everyone's attention was diverted by a sudden crashing in the undergrowth. 

It grew steadily louder, and a few suspended seconds later a huge black ball bounced into the clearing, emitted several frantic barks, and skidded to a halt at Potter's feet, its tongue lolling out. 

The crashing didn't stop, and everybody's gaze remained riveted upon the shielding trees. 

A familiar bellow preceded its body by moments. "Fang? Where 'ave yeh got—" 

Hagrid broke off as he burst into the open space, confronted with four unwavering stares. 

Draco had never felt relief like this. Everything was going to be fine now. It had to be. 

"Hello, Harry! What are you lot doing here?" 

"Ah. Hagrid. You're late, you are." 

Hagrid's eyes swung to Draco, along with everyone else's. The stares were distinctly disbelieving now. Hagrid glanced from Draco to Potter to the other two. Hannah was clinging to William. Draco could see him frantically recalculating. 

"Am I? Sorry abou' tha'." He sidled closer to Potter, glowering down at Draco, on his other side. 

Draco's mouth was half-open, ready to say something, something that would convince Hagrid, that wouldn't give him away, that would solve everything, when William shook Hannah off. She was anchoring his wand arm. 

Hagrid hadn't noticed, but Harry had; he scrambled backwards, away from them. Draco realised he already had his own wand out. 

Harry had been quicker. He began to mutter. Hannah, half a step away from William, shrieked his name, jumped in front of him, and fell in mid-air. 

William spun, keeping his wand directed at Harry; Draco could hear his voice, quiet and fast. Harry's next effort went wide, barely missing Draco. Hagrid froze, and listed to the left. 

It was Draco's curse that hit William. He hadn't been aware that he was casting. 

Several seconds later, Hagrid hit the ground. The dog's flight was still clearly audible. 

Harry sank to the ground, his body suddenly slack. An eternity later, Draco made for the blanket in the midst of the shocking emptiness. 

The moon glinted off Harry's glasses, whiting out the lenses, making the frames glow. It felt silent, though it never was, ever, and Draco could hear every little shift Harry made, could feel his roving gaze burn when it passed over him in his survey of the wreckage. 

"What was that?" Draco assumed the question was directed at him, since he was the only one conscious, but he didn't reply. Harry's voice sharpened. "What was all that about, Draco?" 

"It was an attempt on your life, Potter. You should be used to them by now, surely." His heart was beginning to slow. 

"Why did you save me?" 

No way to deny it; no point in trying. "What do you care?" 

"I thought I didn't. I tried to—" He shook his head angrily. "Why?" 

"Why not?" 

"Because—" 

Draco didn't want the words that filled his head during the pause that followed. Because you're a Slytherin. Because you hate me. Because you're you. Because you're evil, and nothing you can do will convince anyone otherwise. 

"Because your father's a Death Eater." 

"Yes," said Draco. "He is." 

Sudden stillness, even though they hadn't been moving before, and Draco shouldn't have spoken; they were going to read things into the words that weren't there. Harry didn't seem to be looking at Draco, his eyes unfocused behind the camouflaging lenses, but Draco knew he was seeing everything. He pushed his glasses more firmly into place. "It's not that bad. You know…. Well, it's not." 

"I don't know what you're going on about Potter, but—" 

Harry didn't give him the chance to regain any ground. He leaned forward, intent on Draco. "I know you think you had—whatever it is that you want. But—you can have it here, too. Do you understand?" 

Draco didn't. Didn't have the faintest clue what Harry meant, why he looked like it was important. "Yeah. Fine. We should be getting back." 

For a moment it seemed that Harry would protest, but then he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "S'pose so. Which do you want?" 

Draco blinked. "What?" 

Harry blinked. "Hmm? We have to get this lot to Madam Pomfrey. Look at them." 

"What? All of them?" It wasn't a question, it was an expression of disbelief, and Harry ignored it. 

Draco took the conspirators; they were lighter, even combined. Harry didn't complain. 

On the long walk back to the castle, Draco almost convinced himself that it didn't matter. It hadn't turned out so badly. Maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn't lose everything. 


	2. The Morning After

Harry was extremely annoyed. 

Last night, he'd been bewildered and disturbed by the unexpected attack – his perturbation made worse by the fact that he'd been lured into the trap by Hannah Abbott, whom he'd actually quite liked until she tried to murder him – but he had been consoled by Malfoy's subsequent actions. 

They hadn't come quite out of the blue; he'd had an idea for some time that Malfoy was wavering in his commitment to the cause. But it had still been a very pleasant surprise that he'd come far enough along to take direct action against former friends. Harry had been expecting – planning – to work on him, to struggle to change their relationship over time that they didn't have. He'd been expecting the usual: hard work. He was used to the eventual results corresponding to the amount of effort he put in, and Malfoy's about-turn had seemed like a gift from the gods. 

He should have known it was too good to last. 

Harry had been patient and understanding all the way to the infirmary, trying to give Malfoy the space to deal with what he'd done. He'd seemed a bit upset, and had been completely silent until Madam Pomfrey had rushed out, accusations on her lips that didn't dry up until she saw Harry standing behind him. Pomfrey had reluctantly come to accept this sort of thing from Harry, and they'd merely been told to go straight to their dormitories or to Dumbledore if it was very important. 

It wasn't, and they'd parted at the corridor that led to the Tower. Harry had wanted to say something, something that would matter, that would mean something. He'd felt the occasion deserved to be marked, and needed to be, besides. Now that Malfoy had done something decent, he had to realise that it was important, that it changed things—otherwise it wouldn't change things. While he'd been trying to think of something suitably impressive, Malfoy had plunged half-way down another flight of steps. 

Harry'd had to call after him, pulling him up short just before he rounded a corner. He hadn't known what to say, but he'd spoken anyway. 

"Malfoy. You'll have to come to Dumbledore with me, tomorrow—" 

"I'll see you then." 

He had moved to leave again and Harry had snapped at him in irritation. "Malfoy!" Their eyes had met, and Harry couldn't remember what he'd intended to say, couldn't think why he'd made him stop, because there was nothing he could say. "Thanks. For—" 

Malfoy had smiled at him. And when he'd hurried on, Harry hadn't called him back. 

Instead, he'd wandered upwards, lost in thought, trying to find order in a sequence of events that was far more confusing than it had any right to be. He hadn't been sure what had happened, and didn't know what to do about it. Help was needed, and he'd thought it best to wait until he had it. 

He had, of course, been operating under the assumption that Malfoy would co-operate. He'd been mildly worried when the other boy hadn't put in an appearance at Care of Magical Creatures, but his concern had dissipated when Malfoy had wandered into Potions shoulder to shoulder with Professor Snape. His frustration had been growing steadily since then. 

He'd bumped into Malfoy in the corridors, attempted to corner him outside the Great Hall before lunch, and sent half a dozen notes whizzing his way, incurring a twenty-point deduction from Snape. All his advances had been rebuffed. Malfoy hadn't glanced at him once. It was very demoralising. 

Harry was aware that he was staring at the door, garnering the occasional snicker for his pains, but he couldn't help himself. He knew, now, that Malfoy had never had any intention of coming to speak to Dumbledore with him. He'd never meant—

Harry wasn't sure why it was so disappointing. He'd have to revise his opinions, and do a little work, but he hadn't been shying away from it before last night, and couldn't see any reason why things should be different now. But he couldn't quite get to grips with it. If things weren't going to change completely, he wished they hadn't changed at all. 

Malfoy was puzzling him, and that was the root of all the annoyance. Harry didn't like being puzzled; he liked the idea that Malfoy was somehow scoring off him even less. 

Professor Melas was shuffling scrolls at the front of the room, glancing at the clock. The lesson was about to start. Harry stared forward determinedly. 

That wasn't much use though, because looking at the Professor made his thoughts stray to her son and, consequently, back to Malfoy. 

The family resemblance was pronounced. The Professor's hair was streaked with grey and her face was faintly lined, but they had the same nose, the same square jaw. The resemblance might go beyond that. He couldn't judge; he'd never paid much attention to William before yesterday. Last night William's face had been slack and empty, in contrast with his mother's awareness, the control behind her reserve. 

It was a bit discomfiting, sitting and waiting for Melas to begin the class just as he always did, when he had yet to determine whether she wanted him dead. 

It was perfectly possible she knew nothing about her son's activities; it wouldn't be the first time a devoted parent had been deceived and made use of by a child who had turned away from what they had been taught. 

But she was the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and judging by past experience, that meant that she was evil. 

Either way, he wouldn't know how to behave around her until he spoke to Dumbledore. It might be difficult to change his opinions anyway: she'd always seemed so sane. Remarkably so. Perhaps that should have aroused his suspicions. 

"Harry!" Hermione's whisper diverted his attention briefly from the resolutely immobile door. "What's wrong?" 

She looked concerned. Ron had seemed worried earlier; now he was staring miserably at the homework at the front of the room, fully expecting to have to do his over. Hermione shifted her desk nearer and tilted her head close to Harry's. 

"Nothing's wrong Hermi—" 

"Harry, you've been acting really weirdly all day, you've been getting worse, you were fine yester—" 

"No, I mean… Hermione. I'm all right. It's just something that happened last night. I have to talk to Dumbledore about it." Her concern was unallayed. "When I went to meet Hannah last night—" 

The door whisked open and Malfoy breezed in, effectively removing all thoughts of Hermione from Harry's mind. In the next moment, Melas cleared her throat, signalling that she expected their undivided attention _right now_, and saving Harry from making a fool of himself by attempting to penetrate the snarling hordes of Slytherins that Malfoy had surrounded himself with. 

Harry leaned back in his chair and settled in to sulk, ignoring the odd looks Hermione was throwing him. 

The unpleasant business of homework return was soon over. Harry was pleased enough with his marks, but Ron was assigned an extra essay as well as having to rewrite the original one. Hermione refused to show anyone her mark, but smiled happily out at the world from behind her textbook. It was a little depressing that Hermione got better marks than Harry did even in his best subject, but there was no point in feeling sorry for himself. He was tempted to do it anyway, but Hermione always said it was his own fault, and that made him feel a bit guilty. 

His eyes wandered to the side, coming to rest on Malfoy. Melas had bent over his desk, her fingers tracing over his scroll, explaining something to him. The murmur of her voice sounded pleased, and Harry wondered if Malfoy was doing better than he was too. 

Melas was a sound teacher, respected and fairly popular, but she wasn't an exciting lecturer. Superficially, she had the class' attention, but several students were fidgeting, feet bouncing, quills scraping randomly across parchment. Harry's mind kept drifting, returning to the blond sitting to his left. 

He needed to speak to Malfoy, but he wasn't sure why it bothered him so much that Malfoy appeared reluctant; it wouldn't pose much of a problem to waylay him and drag him up to the Headmaster. But Harry was still jittery thinking about him, and his puzzlement nagged at his mind, a constant distraction. He didn't know— 

"Mr Potter." 

Harry hadn't realised that his eyes had followed his mind until Malfoy looked up, grey eyes meeting green. 

"Mr Potter." 

His head whipped around, far too late. Melas was staring down at him, and the entire class had turned to watch, amused at his lack of focus. "Yes, Professor?" 

"The incantation that will quell the weakest of banshee screams, Mr Potter?" 

"Um, silenci—" Giggles were muffled behind hands. "—No." 

"No." The woman's dark eyes never showed emotion; now was no different. Harry wished he hadn't come to class. "Ten points from Gryffindor." 

The class stirred restlessly, and Harry wondered if that loss had put Slytherin ahead. 

He paid attention for the rest of the lesson, scrawling incoherent notes. When the class was dismissed, he threw his things haphazardly into his bag, whirling to follow after Malfoy. 

Who was standing right in front of him. This wasn't his day. 

"I believe we had an errand to run?" 

"Yes. Yes, an—" 

Harry wasn't sure how he managed to get out of the classroom, tagging at Draco's heels, and waving down Ron and Hermione's indignation. 

He was glad that they were soon alone, even if they were walking down what appeared to be a totally random corridor. It didn't take long for him to turn them around and head them in the right direction. Malfoy didn't even argue. 

The walk was interminable. Harry tried to make himself speak, even though he had nothing to say, but it was impossible. Malfoy walked stiffly, gazing straight ahead. He'd obviously never been to the Headmaster's office before, and Harry didn't blame him for being nervous. But the silence was strained, and Harry was extremely relieved when they arrived. 

The password hadn't changed. Dumbledore was playing with what looked like a crystal ball when they entered the room, but he abandoned it, and smiled in welcome. 

"Ah, Harry. Mr Malfoy. How nice to see you both. Have a seat, do." 

Harry and Malfoy took the two chairs nearest to the desk. Harry wondered if Malfoy felt too small for his skin too. This routine hadn't changed since the first time he'd been here. Dumbledore pottered about, arranging cups in saucers and sorting sweets wrapped in coloured paper into several discrete piles. 

"Tea?" 

"Yes, please." Harry didn't really like tea, but he'd discovered it was best just to agree and get it over with. 

"Good, good. And Mr Malfoy?" 

"With just a drop of milk, thanks." 

"Of course." 

Harry knew that Dumbledore did this to put his guests at ease, but he was feeling rather anxious, and he wished they could have bypassed the whole routine. Maybe it would do some good for Draco, who seemed to be quite as anxious as Harry was, though certainly for different reasons. Pouring over, they were given leave to choose the colour sweet they wanted, and when everyone was nicely settled in, Dumbledore finally approached the point. 

"And how is life treating you, gentlemen?" 

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about." 

"It has it in for me. Or perhaps that's Potter." 

Harry scowled at Malfoy, but didn't allow himself to be side-tracked. "Something happened last night that I think you should know about." 

Dumbledore looked concerned. "Yes, Harry?" 

Harry told Dumbledore what had happened, blushing a little over the meeting with Hannah, progressing through the unexpected detour to the forest, and running quickly through Draco, Melas, and Hagrid's entrances. 

"And then Melas attacked me, sir. I saw it coming, and I was able to jump back in time, but he sent a curse right past my head. I knocked Hannah out, and he knocked out Hagrid, and then Draco got him." 

Harry was aware that he was looking at Draco again. Gratitude sat uncomfortably, but it had been earned, and was necessary. He was surprised to find that it wasn't an altogether unwelcome feeling. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "No I didn't, Potter." 

Harry blinked. And blinked again. "What?" 

"I didn't knock William out. You did." 

"Excuse me?" 

"You sent off a flurry of ill-directed curses, and it chanced that one of them hit Melas. I never even reached for my wand, Potter. It was obvious that William would foul it up. He's embarrassingly incompetent, even compared to you. Although it _was_ pure chance that you beat him. Perhaps I don't give the lad enough credit." 

Harry could feel his temper simmering steadily higher. He couldn't hex Malfoy in front of the headmaster. Even Dumbledore would have to take points away for that. Harry knew what Malfoy was doing, knew he had looked him in the face and lied without batting an eyelash, but he had to ask anyway. He knew that Malfoy had lied, and would continue to do so, but he just had to make sure, before he totally lost it. 

"Let me just get this straight, yes? You're claiming that you never made any attempt to stop Melas. You never even tried to save me?" 

"Well, I wouldn't phrase it quite like that. Let's say that it did not appear that you were in need of my assistance. Naturally, I wouldn't have let him abduct you, or rape you, or kill you, or whatever pleasant little surprise he had planned. But I certainly wasn't going to jump into that fight before time. He's a prefect, you know." 

Harry had known, but failed to see the significance. "What?" 

"I am a prefect too, of course, but still, he's a year above. Could have made my life very difficult if I had gotten involved. So I didn't. Was that why you brought me here? I had wondered." 

"You had wondered." Harry wasn't sure whether he wanted to scream or cry, but either way, he wanted to thrash Malfoy. He couldn't deal with this. 

"Yes. I hardly thought that Professor Dumbledore would require you to corroborate your story. Now that that's out of the way, do I have to stay? I won't tell anyone." 

Harry whirled to face the professor. "Sir, that's not what happened! I know it isn't, I saw--" Harry hesitated. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't quite sure what he had seen. It took a second for events to slot into place in his memory. He hadn't seen Malfoy act, but he had seen his own curses fly wide, seen that Melas was unaffected. 

Malfoy was smirking. Harry had just dropped deniability into his lap. 

"Sir, obviously Potter is a little confused. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey--" 

And Harry knew that it probably wasn't the best idea to fight Malfoy if he wanted to convince him to become friends, but he made Harry so angry, crawling under his skin and creating an itch that had to be scratched, and this was the only way Harry could make the irritation subside. And it was worse when he was acting like he was now, every word, every movement, every breath a declaration of superiority. 

"He's lying, Sir, he knows it, he--" Harry was almost shouting, but Dumbledore's gentle cough somehow made him trail off immediately. He settled back sulkily, and reminded himself that he needed to remain calm. "He is lying, Professor Dumbledore, I know what happened, and I know that he's not telling the truth." 

"Now, Harry. Things were very hectic last night and I expect it's rather hard to remember the sequence of events clearly." Harry thought about protesting, but didn't like to interrupt Dumbledore. "It would be very hard for either of you to recall the other's actions in detail, and indeed, your own. I think we must assume that you are both a little unclear about things, and move on." 

A slow breath out and Harry felt his temper cool, and reason creep back in. Dumbledore would believe him, even if he didn't say so; Dumbledore would know what to do. "All right." 

"Good, good. It is interesting that William Melas is involved in this sort of activity. Just after Voldemort fell, his father was investigated rather thoroughly by the Aurors. Nothing was found to connect Nicholas Melas with the Death Eaters." 

"But sir—if there was a suspicion—there must have been a reason for it. And now that this has happened, it proves that the Aurors must have been wrong, doesn't it? They must have overlooked something." 

"That is possible, Harry. We must certainly look into that possibility, yes." Dumbledore played with his sweet wrapper abstractedly, twirling it into a twist and releasing it, over and over again. Harry was half hypnotised by the motion when Dumbledore came back to himself with a little cough. "That is enough of this for the present. Now, since we are not quite clear on the events of last evening, I believe there is little more for us to discuss, but I feel sure we can be amicable in disagreement. Mr. Malfoy, I applaud your actions, or lack of them, as the case may be. I can only hope that this is the beginning of a more, peaceful, interaction between you both." Dumbledore rose, and the two boys rose with him, as if he had tugged on their strings. He shuffled over to them, and Harry found that they were all gradually moving towards the door. "However, even I do not know what the future will bring. Thank you for telling me about this, Harry, and you may rest assured that all efforts will be made. Yes, all efforts." They were on the steps, and Dumbledore was peering down at them benignly. "But I would, Harry, be careful about who you associate with in the future. In these dangerous times, it is a mistake to request trouble to pursue you, no matter how alluring it may be." 

The door shut firmly. Harry blinked in bemusement, and turned to his companion. Malfoy just looked amused, and Harry scowled. 

"I had no idea you had to put up with that sort of thing, Potter." 

Harry hustled Malfoy down the stairs. "What sort of thing?" 

"I always thought you were Dumbledore's golden boy. Every opportunity, every advantage—and that's true, of course, but I hadn't realised—" 

"Realised _what_, Malfoy?" 

The other boy looked at Harry for the first time since they'd left the office, and tried, not very hard, to repress a smirk at the murderous expression that was directed his way. "Oh, nothing, Potter. After all, if you haven't come to terms with it, you'll just get stroppy again, and I have better things to do today than deal with your tantrums." He turned, and began to stroll away. 

"Malfoy!" 

"Yes?" A polite pause, an obliging tone to his voice, and civility was _not_ acceptable. 

"What do you think you're doing?" 

"Missing lunch. Was there something you wanted?" 

"The truth. I wanted the truth. Why did you lie?" 

"Are you so sure I did?" 

"Yes." 

Malfoy didn't answer for a moment, but when he did, it was nothing that Harry hadn't expected to hear. "Of course you're sure. You couldn't be anything but. You couldn't possibly have been wrong. Harry Potter doesn't make mistakes, so Draco Malfoy must be lying. I'm sorry, Potter. You were right all along. Shall we go back up to Dumbledore right now?" 

"Look, Malfoy, I know what you did. I don't know why you're lying about it now, but it's not going to work. And I don't know why you want it to. Just tell me, and I'll tell Dumbledore, and—" 

"Potter to the rescue, as always. I don't know who you imagine I am, Potter, but trust me on this, if nothing else: you're completely delusional. I am not a damsel in distress, and your white stallion should be put out to pasture." 

"I'm not trying to—" 

Malfoy's face twisted, back to contempt, back to familiarity. "Invent the reality that suits you? Tell me then, what the fuck are you doing?" 

"I just want you to stop pretending—" 

"You don't understand, Potter. I am not pretending. Everything you see is real. Everything I do, I mean. Are you really so conceited that you just can't believe that I really do hate you just as much as I've always said? Just as much as you've always hated me? Don't I have that right?" Malfoy's voice, which had risen as he spoke, lowered. "No, I forgot. Only your feelings matter. Mine can be disregarded, because it would simplify your life." He took two steps forward, close enough to touch. "Except that you have to understand that it doesn't work that way, Potter." The gentleness of his voice disturbed Harry, made his shoulders want to twitch. "This is true. This is how things are because this is the way that I want them to be. I act the way that I do because I believe in everything that you abhor. You must accept this Potter, because I have no desire to see the light. I don't want you to save me." Malfoy stepped away. "And if you really want to help me, you'll leave me alone, because you've become tedious." 

He smiled as he swung around and walked down the corridor. Harry tried to think of something to keep him there, some way of denying his words, but couldn't do anything except watch him until he rounded the corner and disappeared from view. 


End file.
